


talk some sense to me

by cathect



Series: where it wasn't supposed to be [1]
Category: IT (2017)
Genre: M/M, a bit of fighting/angst but not much, aged-up georgie denbrough, au - georgie lives, i'm reposting this because fuck the haters, modern au - no pennywise, please read the notes, underage drinking lmao, very bichie-centric tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:11:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect
Summary: -“Leave,” Bill says suddenly. His voice is eerily calm, and Richie prays he’s talking to everyone else. That maybe, just maybe, Bill is willing to sit down and talk about this.“What?” Mike asks, clearly thinking along the same lines.Bill turns on Richie and all hope for a conversation leaves Richie’s mind.“Leave,” Bill says again. “Just— I can’t look at you right now, okay? Please, just go.”-or, the one where bill catches georgie and richie sneaking around behind his back.





	talk some sense to me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [radonna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/radonna/gifts), [wizardingtributeofhades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizardingtributeofhades/gifts).



> yep, that's right. i'm reposting the georgezier fic. i took it down originally because i was getting a shit load of hate and fucking death threats, but i have come to the realization that i worked too damn hard for too fucking long to not post this work that i poured my heart and soul into.
> 
> a few notes about this fic:  
> \- THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN AN AGED UP GEORGIE DENBROUGH AND RICHIE TOZIER. IF YOU DO NOT LIKE IT, THEN DO NOT READ IT. IT'S AS SIMPLE AS THAT.  
> \- i wrote the age difference between them as 3/4 years like the book canon just to make it easier.  
> \- the fic is rated t, but there is a brief mention of hands on thighs and asses. you have been warned.  
> \- just be nice. and if you don't want to be nice, then fuck off.
> 
> thank you, as always, to erin for beta-reading and editing (and for collaborating on the second part). i would die without you and your support.

“Draw two, bitch.”

Beverly slams her blue card down in the middle of the table, flashing a grin at Mike. He snorts and digs through his own hand of cards.

“Think again,” he says, putting down his own _draw two_ , this one red, and grinning at Eddie.

“You guys fucking suck,” Eddie mumbles as he takes four cards from the draw pile. When he leans back in Mike’s lap, Mike wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist. Apologetically, Mike kisses the back of his boyfriend’s neck until Eddie is giggling and pushing him away. “Okay, okay. _You_ don’t suck.”

“Ew.” Richie gives a scrunch of his nose at the cute display of affection before he tosses his own card onto the pile. Bill grumbles something when he sees the red _skip_ and tosses a handful of popcorn at Richie’s head. “Sorry, buddy,” Richie says, shaking the kernels out of his curls. “Don’t hate the player, hate your own inability to play the game.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bill snaps with only the heat of friendly competition in his words. Bill is still frowning as Stan takes his turn.

Richie grins and nudges Bill’s side, Bill responds by sticking out his tongue, and the game goes on. They play a few rounds: Richie is the first to win, and gets another faceful of popcorn for it. Richie is watching his friends argue over whose turn it is when his phone buzzes with a text.

_Miss you. - G_

Richie throws a reflexive glance towards Bill before he types out a quick reply.

_You saw me when I got here. ;) - R_

He looks around at his friends like they’ll know somehow, as though it’s written on his forehead. He manages to focus on the game again just in time to see Eddie take his next turn. The green arrows reverse the order away from Mike, who pinches Eddie’s thigh in retaliation. Eddie giggles and shifts in Mike’s lap to kiss him, and Richie has to look away.

It’s not that he’s jealous— not like _that_ , anyway. He just wishes he had the opportunity to do things like that. In public. In front of his friends. For a second, he lets himself imagine it, but only for a second. He shakes the thoughts from his head and his leg starts bouncing of its own volition. It’s still bouncing a minute later, when he gets another text.

_You know what I mean, asshole. - G_

Richie pushes down a sigh. He does know _exactly_ what Georgie means.

_I’ll sneak up when everyone falls asleep. - R_

He wishes it didn’t have to be like this, the sneaking around and keeping doors closed. He wishes they could be like… well, like Eddie and Mike.

He looks over at them as he thinks it. Mike and Eddie are caught up in each other (as always), kissing to the tune of the other four’s groans and half-serious complaints.

In reality, everyone is happy for them. This relationship has been a long time coming, nearly _two years_ in the making. They finally got together at the beginning of summer vacation. Even though it’s been a month and they’re still firmly in the gushing, honeymoon stage, no one actually wants to ruin their fun. Not even Richie, bitter as he may be.

A glance at the basement stairs has him tempted. He could say needs some air, or to take a piss, and that would grant him ten minutes max. With time to climb the stairs and get to and from Georgie’s room, maybe eight minutes in total. But that’s _eight minutes_ more than the zero he’s faced with right now.

“Richie?” Bill asks, voice soft and concerned. “You okay?”

Richie blinks himself back to reality and looks over at his best friend. “Yeah, Big Bill. I’m fine.”

He tries to calm his bouncing leg, but even digging his nails into his thigh through his jeans doesn’t seem to make a difference. He’s getting antsy, and he’s going to burst soon if he doesn’t—

“Actually, you know what?” He stands up and stretches his arms over his head. “My head is killing me. You mind if I go pass out in your bed for a little bit?”

Bev catches Richie’s eyes over Bill’s head and she gives a knowing smirk. Richie sticks out his tongue at her; that’s the last time he drunkenly confesses something to her. Or, that’s what he tells himself anyway.

“Yeah, of course,” Bill says, bringing Richie’s attention back to him. His eyes narrow and Richie tries to make the most innocent face he can manage. He probably just ends up looking kind of constipated. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Don’t worry abou’ me, dahling,” Richie says, laying a hand over his chest and putting on a bit of his southern belle Voice just to throw Bill off. “I’ll be perfectly alrigh’ again after I sit a spell.”

Bill rolls his eyes before he focuses them on the game again, already getting sucked back in. “Whatever, dumbass,” he says. “Just don’t throw up on my bed.”

“Yessir!” Richie throws his hand up in a salute and heads for the stairs.

“Wait, Richie!” Bill calls. Richie freezes, turning on his heel. For a second, one terrifying second that seems to drag on for hours, Richie thinks he’s been caught.

“Yes, Billiam?” He tries to keep his tone as neutral as possible, even as his voice shakes.

“My floor,” Bill says. “Don’t throw up on my floor either.”

Richie snorts. “You got it, boss.”

He waits until he gets all the way up the basement stairs and shuts the door behind him to let out a breath of relief. He doesn’t know what had him so paranoid. Bill has no reason to suspect anything. Richie’s just not exactly looking forward to the day this all comes crashing down on him.

Still, Richie takes the stairs two at a time until he’s on the second floor of the Denbrough house. He peers into Bill’s room, smiles at all the memories there and shakes his head. Then he walks across the hall.

He knocks twice, pauses, then knocks three more times. The sound of Georgie struggling to get out of his bed as quickly as possible brings a smile to his face, and he’s full-on grinning by the time his boyfriend opens the door.

“Hi,” Georgie says. His door is blocking half his face as he peers around the edge. When Richie lifts an unimpressed eyebrow at his boyfriend’s antics, he opens it a little wider to let Richie in.

“Hey,” Richie responds, copying his soft, surprised tone and kicking the door shut behind him. Georgie gives a playful glare, but smiles and moves into Richie’s arms when he opens them.

“Thought you weren’t going to sneak up until later?” Georgie’s fingers grip onto a handful of Richie’s shirt, like he’s afraid he’ll slip away. Richie smiles and gently cards through the soft, dirty blond locks at the back of Georgie’s head.

“I missed you,” he explains easily. Georgie tilts his head back to meet Richie’s eyes with a small smirk. “What?”

“You missed me?” He asks, just the slightest bit of teasing laced in his voice.

Richie ignores it in favor of honesty. “Yeah,” he says. “Mike and Eddie were being… well, Mike and Eddie. It made me want to see you.”

Richie leans down to kiss at Georgie’s cheek and the younger boy giggles. Richie’s heart swells at the sound, and he tightens his arm around Georgie’s waist.

“I mean, I’m not complaining,” Georgie says just as Richie uses the hand at the back of his head to guide him into a soft kiss.

Richie can’t stop smiling— he’s grinning so much that their teeth clack together as they kiss. It makes Georgie laugh, which just makes Richie smile more, and Georgie rolls his eyes as he tugs Richie towards his bed.

 

“I’m sorry,” Richie says softy a little while later. His lips are kiss-bruised and he’s pleasantly warm, cozied up to Georgie. Once the thrill of trying not to get caught had passed, their frantic making out had slowed until it was nothing but lazy, sweet kisses. Now, spooned behind Georgie, Richie hates how clear and loud his thoughts are.

He hears the slight rustling sound of Georgie turning to look at him. “For what?”

“For this.” Richie shrugs. “For, I don’t know. Having to sneak around.”

He knows what Georgie is going to say: that he doesn’t need to apologize, that they made that decision _together_. But it doesn’t matter. He feels bad all the same.

“Richie,” Georgie says, propping himself up on one elbow and draping the other arm across Richie’s chest. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“Maybe not.” Richie reaches out and cups Georgie’s cheek. “But I’m going to do it anyway.”

Georgie opens his mouth to respond, but Richie presses his thumb to his lips to silence him.

“I know it’s annoying to have to keep this a secret, and I’m sorry that we have to.”

Georgie shakes his head and tugs Richie’s hand away from his face. “You don’t have to apologize,” he says again. “Seriously. It’s not like _I_ want you to get slaughtered by my brother.”

Richie snorts. “Yeah.” He lets out a sigh, and Georgie pouts a little before he kisses him.

“Stop it,” Georgie commands when he breaks away. “It’s the best option for now, and we both know it. Besides,” he blushes and looks away from Richie, “it’s kind of hot.”

Richie’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“Oh?” He guides Georgie’s eyes back to his with two fingers against his chin. Georgie flushes darker and Richie chuckles. “You like being my dirty little secret, huh?”

“You just have to ruin everything, don’t you?” Georgie says, but doesn’t protest when Richie leans up to kiss him again.

If either one of them had bothered to listen, they might have heard Bill coming up the stairs— the stairs in the Denbrough house are old and creaky, and Bill has no reason to be quiet. But Richie and Georgie are so wrapped up in each other that they don’t hear Bill knocking on his own bedroom door, looking for Richie. They don’t hear him say Richie’s name in a questioning tone. Any sounds outside Georgie’s bedroom door are drowned out by the soft moans they’re passing back and forth like they’re playing a tennis match.

They don’t hear anything until Bill opens the bedroom door, just as Georgie straddles Richie’s waist and Richie’s hand slides down to grab his ass.

“Hey, did you hear Richie come up—"

Georgie knocks Richie’s glasses off in his frantic attempt to climb off of him. Richie, terrified because he can’t see Bill’s face, gropes around for the frames. He finds them next to his head, but as his fingers curl around them, he’s almost hesitant to wear them again. He’s not sure he’s ready to face what he’ll see.

When he finally gets them back on, Bill hasn’t moved.

“Bill,” Richie says as he sits up.

He goes to get up off the bed, but Georgie puts a halting hand on his shoulder. Without looking back, Richie moves forward and out of his grasp.

“Bill,” Richie tries again once he’s standing.

Bill swallows, his throat bobbing with the action, and raises his hand to silence Richie. “If you try to tell me this isn’t what it looks like—"

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Richie says.

Even though it’s the answer he must have been expecting, Bill looks startled.

“What—" He stops, drags a hand over his mouth, closes his eyes and then opens them again. “How long?”

It takes all the self-control Richie has not to reach back for Georgie’s hand, to twine their fingers together and let the feeling ground him. It’s enough, he tries to convince himself, to feel Georgie come up behind him and gently hold the sleeve of Richie’s shirt in his fingers.

“I said how fucking _long_ , Richie?” Bill asks again when it’s apparently taken Richie too long to answer.

“Five months,” Richie says. His throat is tight and his mouth is dry, but he and Georgie always swore they wouldn’t lie if Bill ever found out.

“Five months,” Bill repeats, seemingly to himself. “Fucking— what the _fuck_ , Richie?” He yells it so loud that Richie flinches.

“Bill—“

“Don’t,” Bill says, cutting Georgie off. He sets his sights back on Richie. “I don’t— I don’t even know how to react to this.”

“I know,” Richie says. “Bill, I know, I just—“

“You _don’t_ know, Richie.” Bill is fucking seething. Richie swallows as he takes a step towards him.

And that’s the wrong move, because the next thing that Richie feels is Bill’s fist connecting with his jaw.

“Bill!” Georgie yells, catching Richie when he stumbles backwards.

Richie raises a hand to his jaw, pain blooming out under his fingers. Bill’s chest is heaving and his cheeks are red. There’s a fire in his eyes that Richie remembers from the last time they _really_ fought, nearly a decade ago. If Richie was smart, he would walk away right now, give Bill some time to calm down.

“You feel better, Big Bill?” He asks instead, one eyebrow raised. What can he say? He’s never claimed to be smart.

The second punch hits him in the nose and sends him to the ground.

Vaguely, Richie can hear the sound of other people coming into the room, but it’s mostly drowned out by the ringing in his his ears. Someone curls a hand under his bicep and Richie blinks the haze from his eyes to see Mike helping him to his feet.

“Maybe you’d like to tell us what the fuck is going on?” Bev says, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s standing in the middle of Bill and Richie and looking between them.

Richie clutches his nose and Bill flexes his fingers at his side, but neither of them says anything.

“Don’t all talk at once,” Stan says with a roll of his eyes. The others seem to share his sentiment, murmuring some vague sounds of agreement, all watching and waiting with expectant expressions.

Richie pulls his hand from his face and his stomach turns over at the sight of blood. He isn’t squeamish, simply more shocked that Bill hit him _that_ hard. He’d barely even felt it.

“Leave,” Bill says suddenly. His voice is eerily calm, and Richie prays he’s talking to everyone else. That maybe, just _maybe_ , Bill is willing to sit down and talk about this.

“What?” Mike asks, clearly thinking along the same lines.

Bill turns on Richie and all hope for a conversation leaves Richie’s mind.

“Leave,” Bill says again. “Just— I can’t look at you right now, okay? Please, just go.”

“He doesn’t have to go anywhere,” Georgie says as he steps forward. Richie catches him by the arm and shakes his head. “What—?”

“It’s fine, Georgie,” Richie says. He squeezes his boyfriend’s arm gently and nods in Bill’s direction. “I’ll go in peace, Billiam.” The nickname slips out as easy as if this was any other day, any other situation, and it makes his chest ache.

Richie lets go of Georgie and ducks his head as he passes by Bill and leaves the room. He can feel the gaze of his friends burning holes in his back, but no one says anything. He avoids Eddie’s curious eyes when he passes him in the hallway; judging by the cup in his left hand, he’d been getting a drink when everyone came upstairs to investigate.

“Richie?” Eddie tries, speaking slow and cautious.

Richie doesn’t even turn around, just shakes his head and keeps walking. The last thing he hears is Eddie asking _“what the hell is going on”_ before he walks out the front door.

 

Richie finally answers Georgie’s seventeenth phone call on the second ring.

“What the _hell_ , Richie?” Georgie asks before Richie can even say hello. “I’ve been calling and texting.”

“I know,” Richie says quietly. He swallows down the catch in his voice and clears his throat. “Sorry for not answering.”

“No, it’s... it’s okay. Just,” Georgie sighs, clearly less annoyed and more concerned than he was when he answered. “Are _you_ okay? I’m worried about you.”

Richie nods even though Georgie can’t see him. “Nose isn’t broken, jaw is fine.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Georgie says. Richie picks at a scab on his knee instead of answering. “Where are you?”

“Home,” Richie lies.

“No way you’re at home after that.” Georgie laughs and there’s a rustling sound. Richie can perfectly picture him sitting in bed, legs pulled up to his chest and chin on his knees. “Where’d you go?”

“Just sorta… drove.” Richie taps the fingers of his free hand against the steering wheel. “Finally had to stop for gas. I think I’m near Brownville.”

“Didn’t get very far, huh?” Georgie teases.

Richie thinks back to the last time he’d gotten in his Jeep just to go— anywhere, really. He’d ended up crossing the border over into New Hampshire without even meaning to.

“Far enough,” he says.

For what, he doesn’t know. To think, maybe, or just to _be_. Sometimes it feels like he’s too big for Derry. Not in any sort of pretentious way, just in a way that screams _you don’t belong_. Sometimes it’s too much. Sometimes he has to just get away.

“You shouldn’t have let him do that.” Georgie’s voice is quiet when he speaks, but there’s an underlying tone of irritation. As far as who it’s directed towards, Richie’s not sure. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Then, after a beat, “ _We_ didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” Richie says. “But he needs space. So I’ll give it to him.” He holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he turns his key in the ignition. “Listen, I have to drive back. I’ll call you once I’m home, okay?”

“Okay.”

But neither of them hangs up. There’s something almost comforting to Richie about hearing Georgie breathing on the other end.

“Okay,” Richie says after a while.

“Okay,” Georgie repeats with a giggle. Richie smiles in spite of himself.

“Call you later.”

“You’d better.”

The line disconnects with a click and Richie tosses his phone to the passenger seat before he backs out of the parking spot and heads for Derry.

-

A month. That’s how long it’s been since Bill found out, since he and Richie last talked.

Okay, so maybe that’s a little dramatic. They still _talk_. The Losers still hang out almost constantly— neither of them would ever let a stupid fight get in the way of The Lucky Seven— but their interactions never move past what’s necessary.

Richie hates it. He’s had more things he’s wanted to say to Bill in the last month than the other twenty years of their friendship, and he can’t say any of them without catching that disappointed, angry look in Bill’s eyes. It’s clear that Bill would rather avoid Richie than sit down and admit that maybe he overreacted.

That’s why it’s no surprise that, when Bill opens the door and sees Richie, he turns and walks back into the house without a word.

Richie rolls his eyes and steps into the front hall. He can hear Georgie moving around upstairs, still getting ready, so he leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Where are you guys going?”

Richie almost jumps at the sound of Bill’s voice. He hadn’t been watching him, but he’d figured Bill had gone back to whatever he was doing when Richie knocked. Instead, he’s down at the end of the hall, like he needs the ten feet of space in order to talk to Richie.

“Umm.” Richie swallows and shakes the disbelief from his head. “Just to the movies,” he says. “The new _Insidious_ is out.”

“You hate those movies.” Bill raises one eyebrow. “You always say they should have stopped after the sequel.”

Richie snorts. “And they should have,” he says. “But Georgie wants to see it, so.” He shrugs and, just for a moment, it looks like Bill’s about to smile.

“You ready to go?” Georgie asks as he comes bounding down the stairs. Richie looks over at the sound of his voice and he grins.

“I was ready to go when I got here,” he points out. When he turns back to Bill, the almost-smile is gone, and he’s watching on with a tight expression.

Georgie stops at Richie’s side and affectionately punches his shoulder. “You were early,” he says, “dick.” Despite the insult, he smiles when Richie leans down for a kiss. Richie keeps it short and sweet, knowing that Bill might still be watching, and pulls back with a smile of his own.

“C’mon, we’re going to be late.” Richie slings an arm around Georgie’s shoulders and kisses his cheek noisily. Georgie giggles and Richie is so caught up in the sweet sound that he almost misses it when Bill lets out a sigh.

Almost, but not quite.

“Oh, shut up,” Georgie says, leaning forward to look past Richie at his brother.

“Georgie,” Richie warns. “Let’s just go.”

Georgie looks up at him, a spark of challenge in his eyes that Richie recognizes easily. It’s frighteningly similar to the look Bill sometimes gets, when they play Mario Kart or when he’s just refusing to back down. A look that seems to be a Denbrough family trait.

The next thing Richie knows, Georgie is standing up on his toes and kissing him again.

It’s obviously all for show this time: Georgie presses against Richie, licks into his mouth harshly, and lets out a moan that sounds almost unnatural. Richie tries to pull away, he really does, but Georgie’s fingers find their way into his curls and he’s done for. Richie’s eyes flutter shut and he braces himself against the door jam. Georgie leans on him, and when he sighs into the kiss again it’s more natural, more _him_.

They break apart at the sound of Bill slamming the door to the basement, and Georgie looks smug when Richie opens his eyes.

“Really?” Richie asks, even though he’s suppressing a smile.

Georgie smirkes. “If he can be immature, then so can I.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie says, arm finding its way around Georgie again. “Let’s go.”

 

It’s well after eleven by the time Richie pulls into the Denbroughs’ driveway.

They would have gotten back sooner, but they went to dinner. And then dessert. And then Georgie had insisted on pulling over on the side of the road to make out— the hand sneaking up Richie’s thigh making it hard for him to argue. They’d kissed until their lips went numb and Richie’s fingers were cramping where they were buried in Georgie’s hair.

When Richie’s headlights shine against the house, he’s surprised to see Bill leaning against his Subaru Forester with his arms crossed over his chest. Georgie grumbles under his breath, and Richie doesn’t have to ask to know that it’s something about Bill being overprotective.

“I’ll call you in the morning, okay?” Richie says, leaning over and kissing the frown from Georgie’s face.

Georgie sighs and nods. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll go deal with… this.” He opens his door and climbs out.

“Where have you been?” Bill asks, the sound of his voice becoming muffled when Georgie closes the car door.

“Out,” Georgie replies coldly. He walks past Bill and straight towards the front of the house. “We went to the movie, just like we told you.”

“For _seven hours_ _?”_ Bill follows him up to the door, and his voice fades away completely as he continues to question Georgie.

Richie rolls his eyes as he throws his car into reverse. While he respects Bill playing the role of protective older brother, he hates the way it’s left him to play opposite him as “the strange older man dating his younger brother.” Hates it, because it isn’t true. Bill’s his best friend.

He was, anyway.

-

Two weeks later, Richie nearly knocks his phone off of his nightstand trying to answer Bill’s phone call. He’s never been so happy to hear Destiny’s Child. It’s been _ages_ since he’s heard that ringtone blaring out, _“Can you pay my bills—_ _can you pay my telephone bills—_ _can you pay my automo-bills—”_

“Hello?” He answers, trying not to sound too surprised or eager, even though all he can feel as an insane combination of both.

 _“Are you busy?”_ Bill asks.

Richie glances at his television, _Overwatch_ menu screen still up and ready, and smirks to himself. “I can move some stuff around.” He can practically hear Bill rolling his eyes.

 _“You want to go down to the quarry?”_ Bill pauses, sighs. _“I think we need to talk.”_

“Yeah,” Richie says. “I think we do, too.”

“ _I’m in the driveway._ ”

 

In a way, it makes Richie feel better to be riding with Bill. Maybe they won’t really _fight_ , since Richie would have to walk back on foot. He doesn’t think Bill would leave him at the quarry; he’s pretty sure Bill wouldn’t, at least. Richie tries not to show how anxious he is as he climbs into the Forester.

The drive is almost silent.

Almost, save for the sound of Richie’s leg bouncing, making the leather seat squeak, and Bill clearing his throat every few minutes. It’s been _years_ since Bill and Richie had nothing to say to each other on a drive to the quarry. It’s just not natural for them.

Richie thanks his lucky stars when Bill parks. He practically jumps out of the car, ready to expend some energy taking the short trail to their usual spot on the rocks by the water. Bill leads the way, and Richie keeps his distance as best he can. When Bill sits down on one of the rocks, Richie crosses his arms over his stomach awkwardly.

“Can I—?”

“Yeah,” Bill says, scooting over a little to give him room.

As soon as Richie’s sitting down, his leg starts bouncing again. He wills it to stop, knows that the jingling of his keys in his pocket has to be driving Bill crazy. But he and Bill are going to _talk_ , and he’s still not a hundred percent sure how it’s going to go down. As the thought crosses his mind, his leg bounces quicker.

“So.” Bill clasps his hands together over his knees. “You and Georgie.”

Richie blinks and swallows back his knee-jerk sarcastic response. Belatedly, he realizes that Bill is being serious; this is really how he wants to start the conversation.

“Yeah.” He shifts a little, so he’s more directly facing Bill. “Me and Georgie.”

“I just... when did it happen?” Bill asks. “How?” Then, after a half-horrified look passes over his face, “Do I even want to know?”

“Um.” Richie clears his throat to mask a laugh. “Um, well. Do you remember your New Year’s party this year?”

“Yeah?” Bill raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting Richie to continue.

“Right, well—”

 

_“Hey,” Georgie said as he came into the kitchen, voice just barely audible over the music blasting from the living room. Bill, for once, had decided to open up his house to non-Losers for a party, and the place was fucking packed._

_Richie looked up from his phone and smiled. “Hey kid,” he said casually, belying the way his heart rate picked up. Georgie rolled his eyes at the nickname and Richie accepted the playful shove to his shoulder. “What’s up?”_

_“Oh you know,” Georgie said, gesturing to the doorway leading out of the kitchen. The steadily-growing crowd of drunk college students could be heard singing along to an All-American Rejects song. “Hanging out.”_

_Richie snorted and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, fishing for his lighter in the front just to give his hands something to do. He frowned when he didn’t feel it and crossed his arm over his stomach to search the other pocket. “What the—?”_

_“Here,” Georgie said, offering Richie his own lighter. It was tie-dye, with the words ‘good vibes only’ printed onto the plastic in black. Richie raised his eyebrows at Georgie, and Georgie narrowed his eyes in response. “You want to smoke or not, Trashmouth?”_

_“Alright, alright,” Richie relented. He took the lighter and tried to ignore the warmth of Georgie’s hand when his fingers brushed against it. “Thanks.” He tapped a cigarette out of the pack and lit it carefully. He took a long drag and let out a sigh of relief._

_“You mind?” Georgie asked, holding out his hand. Richie made a small noise in the back of his throat and went to hand back the lighter, but Georgie shook his head. “The cigarette, you dumbass.”_

_Richie hesitated, and for a moment he was sure he could feel Big Brother’s eyes on him, watching, waiting. “Since when do you smoke?”_

_“I’m nineteen,” Georgie said, stepping closer to Richie and plucking the cigarette from his fingers, “not nine.” He placed it between his lips and inhaled the smoke._

_There was something so unnatural about watching the younger Denbrough smoke next to him in the middle of a party full of drunken idiots. Richie had always been protective of Georgie, and it was no different now. Even if he wasn’t sure where the protectiveness stemmed from anymore._

_For the past few months, it was like Richie had finally noticed Georgie growing up. Almost like he’d gone home one night and returned the next day a full-blown adult. An attractive one, too._

_Richie shook the thought from his head, chalked it up to the alcohol, and took the cigarette back from Georgie. He gave a playful smirk at the frown on Georgie’s face as he stuck it back between his own lips._

_It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d thought about Georgie like that, but he refused to become_ That Guy _without at least some semblance of a fight. He couldn’t do that to Bill, he just couldn’t. More than that, he couldn’t do that to Georgie._

 _Of course, all of the Losers knew about Georgie’s Big Childhood Crush on Richie. He hadn’t exactly been subtle. But_ that _was an innocent crush. This was…_

_Richie didn’t want to think about what this was._

_“Ten minutes until midnight!” Someone that sounded suspiciously like a drunk Eddie Kaspbrak called from the living room. Richie looked over just in time to see Georgie shaking his head._

_“What?” Richie asked, exhaling away from Georgie so he wasn’t blowing smoke in his face. Georgie shrugged._

_“People get so excited for the new year,” he said bitterly. “It’s just another year. Just more time passing.”_

_Richie actually laughed. “Okay, you’re way too young to be talking like that.” He leaned back against the counter and reached back blindly for his plastic cup of shitty beer. “You’re a fucking_ freshman _. You still have your whole life ahead of you, kid.”_

_When he looked over, he just barely caught the end of some unreadable expression passing over Georgie’s face. Richie jumped when Georgie grabbed his lighter from his hand and turned on his heel._

_“Georgie,” Richie tried, but Georgie was already weaving through the couple that was coming into the kitchen. They parted for him easily and he disappeared through the doorway._

_Richie weighed his options: on one hand, he could go after Georgie. He had no idea what was going on, but he was at least half-certain that it had something to do with him and what he’d said. Because of that, there was no telling what would happen if he caught up to him. What would he say? What would_ Georgie _say? Was he an ass for assuming this had anything to do with him?_

_But the other option was to just stand there and never know. And Richie’s never liked not knowing._

_“Son of a bitch,” he mumbled to himself. He looked at his lit cigarette, hardly finished, and considered weaving his way through the crowd with it in hand. Deciding it would be more trouble than it was worth, he dropped the cig into his abandoned beer on the counter, and followed after Georgie._

_It took him all of three minutes to find him— Georgie used to hide in the same spot during every hide and seek game when they were all younger, until he realized that using the same spot made it impossible for him to win. As Richie walked down the steps into the backyard, he couldn’t help wondering if Georgie wanted to be found this time._

_The lights in the backyard were unreasonably bright, illuminating the overgrown grass and the fountain that never got turned on. Richie immediately headed to the right, towards where he knew Georgie had to be. He ducked under the branches and weeds that had grown across the walkway during one of Derry’s wet seasons and never got cut back._

_Sure enough, when he finally got to the little plastic playhouse in the space between the Denbroughs’ house and the neighbors, the red door was open. He smiled and shook his head fondly. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped to his knees and crawled through the small doorway._

_There was barely enough room for both of them to fit, and one of Richie’s elbows was sticking out the “back window,” but they made it work. Georgie had his legs pulled up to his chest and his chin was resting on his knees. Granted, it was kind of hard to tell with only the miniscule light coming in. Richie gave him about ten seconds of total silence before he spoke._

_“You want to tell me what that was about?”_

_“Nothing,” Georgie said. “It doesn’t matter.” He was looking in Richie’s direction, but he wasn’t really looking_ at _him. There was clearly something on his mind. And, when Richie saw the tears welling up in Georgie’s eyes, his heart broke._

_“It matters.” Richie’s voice plummeted, dropped down into that soft, caring tone that not many people ever got to hear from him. A tone some people probably thought didn’t exist, because Richie Tozier hardly cared about anything. But he did care. He cared so much he thought it might kill him._

_“It’s just—” Georgie shifted his legs. “Every time you call me kid,” he swallowed, “every time you talk about how young I am... It just reminds me you’re never going to see me as anything more than Bill’s little brother.”_

_It’s exactly the answer Richie was expecting and yet, somehow, not at all._

_“And I know that you made that clear a long time ago,” Georgie continued. “But it doesn’t make it suck any less.” He blinked a few more tears away and, if Richie got a little caught up in how blue Georgie’s eyes get when he cries, well... it wasn’t really his fault, right?_

_“I don’t remember making anything clear a long time ago,” Richie said. “Or ever, actually.”_

_He didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, but how else was he supposed to say it? How exactly did one explain to their best friend’s little brother, the kid they watched grow up, that the possibility of mutual attraction wasn’t exactly zero. How did he make that sound_ okay _?_

_“Richie, you don’t have to,” Georgie said, though the tone in his voice betrayed the small spark of hope that had clearly settled in his chest._

_“I know.” Richie’s eyes flicked back and forth between Georgie’s. “I just—”_

_He paused. He just what? Where was he even going with that sentence? It was like he couldn’t think around this kid. No, not “kid.” Not “kid” at all._

_“Richie?” Georgie asked as he laid a hand on Richie’s knee._

_Instead of answering, Richie wrapped a hand around the back of Georgie’s neck and tugged him into a kiss._

_The angle wasn’t great, still being trapped in that plastic house and all. Richie’s head was bumping against the roof every other moment, and Georgie’s legs were curled up tight to get closer to Richie. Georgie’s mouth tasted like that strawberry vodka that once made Richie incredibly sick in high school, and Richie was pretty sure his own mouth tasted like the always-foul combination of cheap beer and cigarettes._

_Richie felt like he was flying. It was like every first kiss he’d ever had and something all its own at the same time. Georgie didn’t cave under him, didn’t hand over the reins like Richie had expected him to. Instead, he kissed Richie back like his life depended on it._

_“You’re early,” Georgie said when Richie pulled away to breathe._

_“What?” Richie asked, adjusting his position and knocking his elbow into the plastic window frame as he did._

_Georgie smirked and raised his phone with the time showing. “11:59,” he said. “You’re early.”_

_Richie rolled his eyes and hauled Georgie in for another kiss— one that continued through and past midnight._

 

Bill doesn’t speak for a long time. Too long, long enough for Richie’s heart to start hammering against his ribs in an uncomfortable way. He chews on his bottom lip, willing Bill to just say _something_ already.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bill doesn’t wait for Richie to ask what he means— Richie knows, anyway— and continues in a rush. “You could have talked to me. But instead, you went behind my back for five fucking months.”

“What was I supposed to say, Bill?” Richie counters. He laughs, bitter, then pitches his voice sarcastically as speaks, “" _Hey_ Bill, I think I’m falling in love with your little brother. Y’know, the kid I’ve known his whole life? The one I used to help you babysit? The one whose big crush on me we used to make _jokes_ about?’” He shakes his head. “Yeah, _that_ would have gone over really well.”

Bill stares at him for a moment. “You love him?”

“I mean.” Richie looks away and shrugs, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

“I guess I just didn’t…” Bill trails off and Richie meets his eyes again.

“Bill,” he says. “I was so scared of… well, _this_.” He gestures between them, to the wall that’s built up over the past few weeks. “I was scared of losing you, but I was scared of losing him, too. It felt safer to just… hide.” Richie runs his hands through his curls, distressed. “Do you really think I would have lied to you, that I would have gone behind your back like I did, if what I felt wasn’t real?”

Bill snorts. “I don’t know, Richie.” He brushes some hair out of his eyes as he looks out over the water. “I never exactly expected to be put in this position.”

They fall silent again. Richie tries to focus on the gentle lap of the water against the rocks and the breeze through the trees behind them, instead of on the way he can practically hear the gears turning in Bill’s head.

“Okay.”

Richie raises his eyebrows at Bill. “Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” Bill says again. “I mean, it’s not like I could ever really stop you in the first place, but—”

Richie launches across the space between them and throws his arms around Bill in a hug. They topple over and hit the ground, both letting out similar _oof_ sounds.

“Get off me,” Bill says, but he’s laughing. Richie shakes his head and hugs Bill tighter. “Richie, I’m fucking _serious_.”

“Uh-uh, Big Bill.” Richie lands a loud kiss to Bill’s cheek. “I have nearly two months of friendship to make up for.”

Bill groans and shoves at Richie’s shoulders until Richie finally relents and lets him go. He rolls onto his back next to Bill and, for a minute, they just look up at the sky.

“Just one rule,” Bill says after a bit. Richie hums in question. “No sex when I’m in the house, okay?”

Richie can’t help it. He just can’t fucking help it. “Too late.”

Bill punches Richie’s arm so hard he knows it’s going to bruise, but Richie grins anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> come visit me on tumblr @devilstrip!
> 
> feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you think, but keep in mind that i do have comment moderation on, so any and all hate will be deleted!


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